


Partners In Crime

by haddocksortails



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Crime story - Freeform, Detective Noir Vibe, Dog Stormfly, Dog Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon), F/M, HicCop, Modern AU, Partners in Crime, Serious Detective Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haddocksortails/pseuds/haddocksortails
Summary: Rookie cop Hiccup Haddock is in disguise as a club-goer, working on his first major case in Berk's infamous stripper palace, Drago's Dragon Den. And he hates it. But then a beautiful blonde dancer catches his eyes and he makes a very bold and really stupid move only to find himself in the most awkward situation of his life. And it gets even worse when his boss introduces him his new partner...





	1. ...in which Officer Haddock repels strip clubs, yet is swept off his feet by a blonde dancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this story roughly 4 years ago on ff.net. Times have changed, so as some parts of this story.

It's only been three minutes since Officer Hiccup Haddock sat down at the small round table of the club when the unwelcome sensation of panic starts to set in. It stems from the lower part of his spine and it quickly rushes up towards the nape of his neck, jumping from vertebrae to vertebrae. He takes a deep breath through his nose and slowly blows the air out through his teeth. He feels a little better, but still debates running back home.

He tugs at the sleeves of the expensive suit. It's not something he likes to wear and he fears it shows. With shaky hands, he loosens the ridiculous bow tie that's been suffocating him ever since he put it on. He's glad that the night is still young and the place is practically empty, the wealthiest patrons' VIP-tables around the stage are all unoccupied.

He glances at the amber-colored glass of whiskey in front of him and he is tempted to taste it; a shot of liquid courage could do wonders to an insecure guy like him. But it's not happening, he is working, plus the alcohol on the table costs two days' salary. For granted, it's not his money, it is the _taxpayers'_ , but he'd feel guilty if he downed it in one gulp. He thinks about his father, who would appreciate the classy drink, but then tries not to think about him, because he is sitting at a strip club, for the first time in his life and it just doesn't feel right.

Truth be told, nothing feels right now. It's his first undercover job, he shouldn't mess it up, but he is the worst liar ever, and being in disguise is practically a big fat lie. He tried to persuade Captain Gobber to choose someone else, he was sure that most of his fellow officers would gladly volunteer to spend a night at Berk's infamous stripper palace, but the captain didn't listen to him. Instead, he handed him a thick folder to study the case, a bundle of cash and ordered him to be at the club and snoop around without raising suspicion.

The young cop knows he has above average attention to detail and probably has more logic than most of his co-workers, but it should not be enough to qualify him for a high risk undercover job, but Captian Gobber sees some non-existent potential in him.

He is clumsy, he gets embarrassed easily and deep down in his heart he really hates weapons and violence, but the captain looks through rose-colored glasses when it comes to him. He thinks of the young man as an aspiring super cop, an exemplary policeman, someone who is worthy of the legacy of Chief Haddock. The problem is, he is not his dad, they are two different species, no matter how badly Gobber misses his former partner.

Yes, Captain Gobber is the enthusiastic uncle he never had by blood, he always wants to help him, to give him that _little push_ he thinks the young man needs, but it is just the matter of time until he realizes that he put all his trust in a complete failure. He should stay behind a desk, where he belongs.

But Hiccup had no chance against his boss, so he put the money in his pocket, he read through the files, made some notes, rented an expensive suit and tried to persuade himself that he can do it.

The captain also ordered him to talk to Officer Ruffnut Thorston, who would provide him with some further details, but he chose not to approach her. He avoided the slim, harsh colleague like the plague and he knew he had a valid reason to do so. Her information couldn’t have been that important if it wasn’t in the files - he told himself.

So that's how he ended up here, in Berk's high-end strip club, where a prominent Icelandic businessman spent his last hours before he disappeared into thin air roughly three weeks ago.

The young man runs a sweaty hand through his shaggy russet hair and tries to summarize to himself the things he learned from the files. The dim-lit, shady place is called _Drago's Dragon Den_. It is run and owned by a _Mr. Drago Bludvist_ , who has a mysterious past. Only one thing is sure about him: he came to Berk a few years ago and opened his club, which became a huge success, mostly thanks to the star of the house, _Miss Heather_ _Dérangé_ , who is better known by her stage name, _Lady Leather_.

He shakes his head trying to get rid of his awkward feelings. He doesn't like this place, because it dishonors women and it degrades men. It repels him and he is also intimidated by it, he is miles away from his comfort zone.

He tries to gulp down some air to get rid of the lump in his throat, but it only seems to feed the knot that restricts his breathing. But he has to sit through three performances, preferably looking enthusiastic about them, before the final act of _Miss_ _Dérangé_.

She is one of the last persons to see Mr. Alvin Enevoldsen alive and kicking, and a police informant, who went by the name "Dr. Dagur", claimed that Mr. Enevoldsen had offered a huge amount of money for her "company".

Of course, it would mean organized prostitution, which was illegal in Berk, but Dr. Dagur said that the keywords to such privileges were his very own name and ‘ _The Champagne Room’_. It sounded really lame, so young Officer Haddock hoped he wouldn't get kicked in the butt or worse if he tried to get in it, in the hope of finding some clue about the vanished man.

Suddenly, he hears some noise coming from behind him, so he turns his head nervously. The muscular man with the provocative chin tattoo, who brought him his expensive and untouched drink is now fiddling with a microphone.

He clears his throat before announcing the first dancer on the stage, but Hiccup can't catch the absurd fantasy name. _Stormbug_ , maybe? It didn't sound like a proper stripper name, but again, he is not familiar with the current trends in stripper names. Plus, he doesn't care.

He still doesn't turn his head back to the stage, he is more interested in the bulky tattooed guy, who goes back behind the counter to whip-up a fancy cocktail to an elderly man. The lights fade out, and the music starts to play and much to his surprise, it's something that he actually likes, _Be Mine, from Ofenbach_. Absent-mindedly, he starts to tap the rhythm on his table’s top.

All eyes turn to the stage, and he hears low murmurs from every dark and creepy corner of the place, even the tattooed guy stops with the shaker in his hand and stares at this _Stormbeetle_ or whoever she is.

The russet-haired officer doesn't want to look, he doesn’t want to belong among this pack of drooling, hungry wolves, but it would be weird to stay turned away from the stage when the show is on, so he moves his head, envisioning fake boobs and orange tanned skin, but…

...his jaw drops. The girl on the stage... She's the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on. She has no fake tan nor enormous breasts, what's more, she doesn't seem to wear any makeup at all, she doesn't need it with her porcelain skin and the dark blue eyes that look like two perfectly cut gemstones.

She is classy, which is an out of place observation since she barely wears any clothes, but her moves are elegant, she has grace and she moves like a panther while her thick braid of blonde hair floats around her like a golden rope.

He is mesmerized. By her figure. By her curves. By her uncanny flexibility. But most of all, by her golden curls. He always had a thing for blonde hair, he doesn't even know why, but it's the first thing that catches his eyes when it comes to women. Another out of place is that she has the sweetest smile on her perfect face. It's not a forced grin, it's something that can only come from the heart. She seems to be enjoying it, she seems to be laughing at her helpless audience.

His feelings hit him like avalanches. Suddenly he wants to know her. He wants her real name, not that bugshit she is called on stage. He wants to hear her voice, her laughter, he wants to see her in decent clothes and a raw, well-hidden part of him also wants to see her without them... Well, he guesses, his last wish will be granted soon enough.

But the song ends painfully soon, she bows her head playfully and leaves the stage followed by a chorus of frustrated moans and hisses.

Officer Haddock is a tiny bit disappointed, too, but he is more relieved that the creepy patrons didn't have the chance to see her, to whistle to her, to mock her with their dirty ideas. She doesn’t deserve it, no woman ever deserves it...

The tattooed man gets the mic again and he introduces the next girl, but the young cop couldn’t care less about the new performer. He fixes the bar and he wonders whether the glorious woman will turn up to have a drink. Nah, probably she won’t. If Hiccup were her, he would head home immediately, because anything could be more pleasant than a bar full of horny man. But then again, this shady Dr. Dagur suggested that the girls who work here are willing to extend their work hours and gladly have some one-on-one time with the most generous bidders. She might need the money…

He thinks about spitting at his image the next time he catches the glimpse of himself in a mirror, because of his despicable thoughts, but deep down in his heart, he knows that he would never use anyone, especially not someone in her assumed situation. On the other hand, he really should get into that _Champagne Room_ , he has a hunch that there is something, something which is definitely more important than watching ladies wiggle and squirm on a stage.

With eyes still fixed on the bar, he touches the inside pocket of his suit jacket. There's the strap of money, a bundle of carefully folded hundred dollar bills, which Gobber gave to him, not to spend it on anything, just to 'flaunt' with it if needed. For a short moment, he wonders from where his boss got the money and he hopes it's not next month's salaries, because... yeah, most of his co-workers carry guns.

His heart skips a beat when he spots the mysterious beauty in the dim light. She goes to the bar and gets a small bottle of sparkling water from the bartender. She is wearing a crimson robe now, nothing fancy, but it looks nice on her, well… even a coal bag would look nice on her...

There's a huge smirk on the tattooed man's face when he hands her the drink and it's painfully obvious that he is attracted to the girl. A new lump forms in the throat of Officer Haddock, which is stupid, he can't be _jealous_ , can he? He doesn’t even know her.

Still, he desperately wants to talk to the girl before the sturdy bartender charms her – he seems like someone who has expertise in the field. Officer Haddock grabs his drink and swallows it in one gulp, which makes him cough a little, but luckily, no one pays attention to him, the bartender is occupied with the blonde and the rest of the room is glued to the stage.

Hiccup stands up and casually walks to the other end of the counter, then clears his throat to get the attention of the man behind the counter. The tattooed lifts his head up and notices the boyish-looking customer. He unwillingly walks up to him.

"What can I offer you, sir?" His voice is deep and polite and Hiccup can finally read the name tag on his velvet vest. It says 'Eret', it sounds strange and unfamiliar and the young policeman suspects that it isn't the name his mother gave him.

"Erm, yeah... Hi, Eret, I..." He stops for a second to gather his thoughts and his courage. "Yeah. So hi. Erm. I was wondering if I could… maybe... talk to the lady in the crimson robe? I want to know her a _little better_."

It sounded more okay in his head, but it was far from disastrous, it could have been much much worse, plus he was only reciting the words that this Dagur-figure had shared with the police.

Eret, or whoever he is, looks at him suspiciously for a long moment.

"First time here?" There's nothing condescending in his question, yet it makes Hiccup feel uncomfortable, but he tries his very best at staying collected.

"Yes. A friend of mine, Dr. Dagur recommended this place." This is supposed to be the key to the secret room and he really hopes that it opens the door. The bartender still looks at him with narrow eyes and it's getting awkward... Then he bursts out laughing and it's almost more intimidating than his stare or his silence.

"Any friend of Dr. Dagur is a friend of ours," he says joyously and the young undercover cop feels a tiny bit relieved. "But... I don't know if Miss Stormfly is willing to... Look, Mr. ...?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm Nigel. _Nigel Fury_." He knows his undercover name sounds stupid, but in a world of Erets and Miss Stormflies, it should be acceptable, plus he is pretty sure that the bartender doesn't give a flying fuck about his real name.

"Okay, Mr. Fury, just-just give me a second."

He comes out from behind the counter, walks to Hiccup, grabs his elbow and turns him around for a little more privacy. The young cop feels nervous again. At this point, anything could happen, and he knows it all too well that he is risking the whole mission and his safety, but he must try it, he owes Captain Gobber that much.

Eret steps too close to him and places a warm palm on Hiccup's scrawny shoulder. It almost feels like a friendly gesture. "So, Mr. Fury, the thing is that I don't think Miss Stormfly wants to erm... know any of our guests."

"Oh." That's all he can react, but it figures. She doesn't do the Champagne Room.

"I mean... look at her,” Eret grabs his chin and turns his face towards the girl, who is calmly sitting at the counter, sipping her water and reading a book, not being bothered by her surroundings.

Eret turns back his head and lets go of his chin. “She looks mind-blowing, she could be the star of this magnificent hellhole, but... she doesn't want to drop her clothes off on stage and it's not the best attitude in this business, I can tell you that.”

Hiccup takes a disappointed sigh. Suddenly, Eret's strong fingers dig into his shoulder. It's almost painful. "You know, Mr. Fury, just between us, _friends_ , I've been trying to talk that robe off of her for two weeks now and…"

"And?" Hiccup's voice trembles even though he only says one syllable.

"I can't. She is so fucking stubborn. I mean, look at me…" He says and the young officer nods understanding. Eret is the bulky, easy-going dapper type with a hint of a scoundrel in him that most girls find irresistible and he is just a scrawny, freckled rookie who is far too nervous to be a cop...

She didn't fall for the dream guy, so why on Earth would she say yes to him, the perfect opposite of perfect?

"But you know what?" Continues the bartender a few seconds later. "I kinda like you, Mr. Fury, you seem more intelligent and pleasant than the crowds we have here… Erm, I shouldn’t even ask this question, but you have money, right?"

Hiccup nods and takes out the strap of notes from his pocket. He doesn't want to hand over the whole bundle, but Eret greedily grabs it from him. He lets out a quiet whistle when he feels the weight of the money and he takes two hundred dollar notes and shoves them into the back pocket of his pants.

"Commission fee. I'll see what I can do."

He leaves Hiccup and heads for the girl who is still reading quietly.

Officer Haddock suddenly starts to feel dizzy, when his brain finally starts to process the last two minutes of his life… He tries to loosen his bow tie again, but he fails. He grabs the edge of the counter to keep his balance, but... Jesus, that was a huge amount of money... Money that wasn't his, that he wasn't supposed to spend.

He wants her to refuse his offer, but of course, it doesn't necessarily mean that he gets his money back. Eret could take it in a blink of an eye and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, because any kind of confrontation is an unnecessary risk for an undercover officer.

He looks at Miss Stormfly and Eret at the other end. The tattooed is gesturing at him while talking to her. Hiccup cannot see her face clearly, but he is 99.9 percent sure that it's a no go, and it _should be a no go_.

Ten seconds later he is about to leave, but he sees Eret heading towards him.

"Well, Mr. Fury, it must be your lucky night," he says with a naughty grin when he is next to him.

Hiccup doesn't understand the bartender at first. It's anything but a lucky night, it's an awful evening and... "Oh." He says when he finally comprehends Eret's words.

"She will be waiting for you in the _Champagne Room_ , she just needs a couple of minutes to freshen up."

As of now, Officer Haddock doesn't know which counts as the bigger shock: the fact that he lost a huge amount of police money or the fact that she gave him a chance. Well, technically he _bought_ his chance with that frickin' money, and the fact that he dared to do it is actually the most shocking to him. And it seems that he cannot do anything now apart from, well, going with the flow. Splendid.

Eret goes back behind the counter and Hiccup gladly accepts and drinks the whiskey he offers him. He is the guest of the house, which is a good thing since he doesn't have a dime left in his fancy pockets.

Then Eret comes out and gestures with his hand towards a door on the right.

“After you,” the tattooed says firmly. The young officer has no choice but to do as he has been told...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have questions or want to say something? Find me on tumblr.


	2. ...in which Officer Haddock feels awkward later joyful and finally, mortified

The door is an average one, from the outside it looks like a closet door for cleaning supplies, but it opens to a narrow corridor. Eret looks behind them to make sure no one is paying attention to them before shutting the door. Officer Haddock walks hesitantly, but there are no options or crossroads, it’s just a narrow, dimly lit passage. After taking 60 steps – yes, he is counting – he spots a massive, mahogany door with an even more massive standing in front of him. The tattooed puts a hand on his shoulder and leads him to the giant.

“Hello, Mr. Savage,” he greets him joyfully. “This fine gentleman here has a rendezvous in the Room with Miss Stormfly."

The brute remains silent and Hiccup nervously swallows the polite 'Good evening' he initially wants to say; it’s quite obvious that one bad move and the giant man snaps him in half and probably would use him as a toothpick after a late-night steak dinner and it's not the kind of future Officer Haddock is willing to live.

Eret turns to him now and there's a change in his voice; he drops his previous friendly tone and switches to an official-sounding one. He talks fast, it reminds the young cop of how he would quote the Miranda warning when needed.

"Dear sir, we don't have many rules here. Our beloved customers' comfort and satisfaction are of the highest importance for us, but we also want to guarantee the safety of our _damsels_. Mr. Savage guards this door. He won't let anyone disturb your meeting, but if he hears any suspicious noise, he will go inside and trust me, it’s not easy to convince him otherwise if he has doubts about your good intentions.”

“Of course,” answers Hiccup, trying to sound neutral stuck between the two large men.

Mr. Savage moves away from the way, turns the knob, opens the door and gestures to the undercover officer to enter. He dithers for a few seconds, in some ways, what’s waiting for him inside frightens him more than his current companions.

Eret pats his shoulder. “Mr. Fury. Enjoy your rendezvous.”

He has no choice, he has to go in.

The room looks exquisite and luxurious. Burgundy drapes decorated with golden fringes hang from the walls, and there are pieces of antique furniture all over the place. Hiccup flinches when the door behind him closes with a loud thud. The room seems empty, so he continues with his observations.

There are four carefully carved curvy chairs, a sofa draped with crimson velvet, a dressing table with slim perfume vials on it, cabinets with richly decorated ivory insets, picturing obscene acts and a sturdy state bed with an embroidered baldachin. It's like an alluring boudoir from a 19th-century French romance novel and even though Hiccup is not an expert, he is quite sure that these are not cheap replicas. 

His fascinated and hypnotized for a moment by the luscious impression the room gives him, but then he snaps out of the vivid daydream and starts to think about a more productive approach, trying to search for any clues that the room hides from the negligent observer. He debates looking under the bed, it can be a very good source of information since cleaners sometimes tend to ignore it or just lazily sweep the dirt there, but he has a weird feeling that someone is watching him.

He hears some noise coming from behind him. It sounds like a little suppressed cough and as he turns, he immediately reaches for his gun. It's a cop's reflex, and as it turns out, even bad cops can have it, but of course, he doesn't touch the well-known, rigid surface because he didn't bring it with him. He tries to disguise the awkward, suspicious move by quickly crossing his arms in front of his chest.

A slim figure emerges from behind a richly decorated screen and his jaw drops. The stunning girl from the stage unbraided her hair and now it flows free around her; the shiny curls of the golden strands lick her shoulders. She hasn't changed; the robe hangs loose on her, giving the young cop exciting glimpses of the glittery bikini and her pale flesh. He almost grins boldly when he notices the tiny freckles on her flawless skin, but he bites his lower lip instead. Huh, at least they have some tiny things in common...

She gracefully walks to him and stops when she is only a few inches from him. Then she places a hand on her hip.

"So?" Her blue eyes are piercing him like two sharp daggers, and the short word she uses as a greeting is unsettling. He takes one wobbly step back.

"I-I am..."

"I know. Mr. Fury."

He anxiously runs his sweaty fingers through his shaggy hair desperately trying to search for the right words, which simply don't come.

"Can I offer you a drink?" She asks getting bored with his slow reaction and casually walks to the dressing table. There's a fine cut crystal bottle filled with some darkish liquid and next to it two matching glasses.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm..." He almost says 'I'm on duty' but luckily, he stops before fucking everything up by revealing himself. He really shouldn't be doing this... But then he gathers his courage and clears his throat. "No, I'm fine," he states firmly.

She places the stopper back on the bottle and for reasons unknown, she doesn't drink either. He finds it curious, he has always thought it was not a way of life one could live soberly, but of course, she might have used other things...

"Have a seat, please." She tries to be polite, but there's something in her voice that makes a relatively innocent offer sound like a command. He nervously sits down on the closest velvet sofa and places a cushion on his lap. Just to be hmm... safe.

She kneels down next to him, placing her weight on her heels, looking at him with her curious, sapphire eyes. Yeah. He should say something. He really should say something... There's another moment of awful silence and he hates himself for it. He starts to nervously tap with his right leg, but a light palm lands on his thigh and stops him.

It's their first physical contact and in a way, it's calming, but the intimate nature of it is also causing some discomfort to the young man. Before coming here, in the shower, he kind of thought about _dealing with himself_ for a moment, but his crazy dog started to bark at something so his time under the warm water was cut way too short. 

"So?" Her demanding voice interrupts his thoughts, but he is still clueless. Maybe he should play the chaste, clumsy, rich kid card - that's something he can at least partly relate to...

She shakes her head with a disapproving glance and stands up. She goes back to the dressing table. Her hips are swaying in a suggestive way - or maybe it is just the way she normally walks. She pours two drinks and slowly goes back to him.

"Drink it."

He knows he is not allowed to refuse it again, so he chugs it down with two huge gulps. Probably, it wasn't the wisest idea, because it's a damn strong whiskey. She must have needed that drink too because they finish at the very same time. His gaze lingers on her as she licks the residue from her lips with the tip of her pretty pink tongue.

"So, I guess Eret warned you about Savage breaking the door if he hears any suspicious noises."

He quirks an eyebrow. "He did, but I haven't done anything that..."

She starts to laugh and her giggle is the jingle of the Christmas bells, but it also makes him feel really dumb. She leans closer to his ear and her warm breath tickles his earlobe.

"Mr. Fury, this is a place where people come for sex, the quieter they are, the more suspicious it is."

She has a point, but sadly, he still doesn't know what to do or to say. She grabs his right hand suddenly, and oh boy, it can't get any more awkward, because his hands are damp with sweat. But it seems, she doesn't care about it, she just yanks it a little to make him stand up. He is facing her now and he is happy that he is at least taller than her, but unfortunately, the size difference doesn't make him braver or less dumb.

"What do you like, Mr. Fury?" Her voice is strong and it's quite obvious that she wants the brutal bodyguard to hear her. She is still holding his hand and he doesn't want to pull it away, because that's the only thing that makes him feel good at the moment.

She stands on tiptoes and their noses almost touch and at this point, he knows she could do _anything_ to him. Whatever she wants from him, he would do it. He would be her slave for life or burn down villages for her in a blink of an eye. Well, maybe not in a blink of an eye, because he should get some flammable material first, but luckily, she doesn't want him to destroy the world for her.

"Listen, we have to go to the bed and... I dunno... make some _bed noise_ ," she whispers.

His eyes go wide and it's not because she has just offered to take him to the bed, but it is the first time he hears a pinch of doubt in her voice and it feels odd. What if he is not the only one who doesn't know what he is doing?

But he doesn't have time to evaluate, because she quickly spins him around and pushes his back to make him stumble towards the bed.

"I know you don't want to _do it_... but we have to make them believe you did," she says through gritted teeth, still keeping her warm palm on his back.

They reach the bed and she playfully jumps on it, enjoying how the strong springs of the mattress bounce her back. She is like a little girl on a trampoline and it's adorable even if she has a killer body with not many clothes on. She gestures towards him and he casually hops next to her, landing on his back. The bed makes a squeaky sound and she seems happy with it.

"Oh, good, I was hoping for that sound! Come on, let's make some noise." Her enthusiastic whisper is quite confusing, but he starts to play along. At least they are doing something other than awkwardly staring at each other.

But the whole situation is really confusing so he stops moving and sits up leaning closer to her face. "Look, I don't know about that noise, but I..." She lifts her index finger and presses it to his mouth to make him stop talking.

"Listen, I know you don't want to fuck me."

He hesitates with his answer trying to figure out why on Earth she thinks that he is not here to have sex with her. He asked for her. He paid for her. Does he seem so obviously lost like he actually is? Of course, she is absolutely right, but she shouldn't be...

Okay, so now he has to come up with a reasonable explanation for not wanting her. She misunderstands his silence, her eyes go wide and she almost seems frightened.

"Or... do you?" She asks, sounding a little shocked.

He is flabbergasted, too, but only for a quick second. "What? No, no, of course, I don't."

"Of course you don't?!" Her voice has a resentful tone as if his lack of interest would be an insult and he knows has to come clean. Or at least a wee bit cleaner. He doesn't know why, but he leans a little closer to her - probably because it feels more confident this way.

"Look... Miss Stormfly, I just... huh, I just wanted to know you a little better. That's... all it is, I swear."

"That's not why people come here." There's that accusing tone in her voice again, and he really doesn't like it. It makes him feel agitated, nervous.

"You know what? Probably it's one of those Pretty Woman stories. I came in, I saw you and I... eh... felt like I wanted to talk to you."

"Problem is that you paid 2,000 dollars for it." A jolt of pain runs through his guts when she reminds him of the money. He really doesn't want to think about it until he has to. Tomorrow morning... He shakes his head as if it could help to erase the image of Gobber asking about the whereabouts of the dough he had given him...

"Maybe I'm richer than Croesus," he says and he sounds cocky, which is really not the best attitude in his current situation, but he feels that his pride was hurt.

She grabs his wrist again. "Okay... If you're rich than the legendary king of Lydia... Oh, spare me that look, just because I'm a stripper it doesn't mean I can't be a well-educated stripper."

She gives him the evil eye and he hangs his head. "Sorry about assuming that..." He feels guilty, but he is also relieved. Everyone always teases him about his vast knowledge of ancient histories and myths and now he has met someone who understands his reference. Strange place to meet another history enthusiast, though.

She lifts his hand higher and looks at the Rolex he is wearing. "But there's must be some truth to what you are saying. I assume it wasn't King Midas who had turned your toy watch into gold…" She hesitates and a cunning smirk draws on her face. "What if I told you that you could do anything or _everything_ to me if I can keep your fancy wrist bling-bling?"

He yanks his hand away as fast as he can, away from her burning touch. She laughs. She laughs at him and it hurts. "I knew it!" She exclaims confidently, still giggling, "I knew it wasn't yours!"

He doesn't say anything in his defense. He took the watch from his father's drawer to... He doesn't even know why he took it; he probably thought it might come handy with his 'well-off kid' disguise. And of course, he was planning on put it back as soon as it was possible, even though he knew his father wouldn't notice (or care) if one of his expensive watches was gone.

"You should consider a career change, you would make an excellent detective, Miss. Marple," he says dryly.

She is definitely amused while she kneels up on the bed; the springs are squeaking suggestively under her as she moves.

"So this - and I'm gesturing to all of you - is not you," she continues with her observations. 

He presses his lips together and doesn't comment. She rolls her eyes. "Alright, knucklehead, don't say a word, but we still have to get out of this situation without having our bones broken..."

She gets on all fours and lifts her robe from her perfect ass. Hiccup's eyes go wide, he chokes and coughs. Sure, she still wears her bikini, but it barely covers anything. He is awestruck, but suddenly a loud slap wakes him up from his oddly realistic daydream. And then she slaps her butt again. "Oh, Mr. Fury, this feeeeels sooo good!" She repeatedly slaps herself and shouts various words of pleasure. He is petrified. She doesn't stop with the distracting slaps but looks at him angrily.

"Play along, idiot," she hisses.

"But how...?"

"Just jump on the stupid bed and scream whatever you scream when your girlfriend peels the skin of your back."

He takes a deep breath. He has no back-ravaging girlfriend, but he gets the concept, so he kneels up behind her and starts to move. It's kind of funny how the bed creaks with every move and she turns her head to him and flashes an encouraging smile and he starts to be a little braver.

"Shit, you are beautiful..." It's not difficult to say it out loud, because it happens to be true. But he loses his balance and grabs her butt with two hands, stupid reflexes. She immediately turns and grabs his shoulders and he is suddenly on his back, with her on top of him. An earnest grunt leaves his mouth. 

"Do you mind if I take control?" She asks, mocking him in a lustful tone. Boy, she is strong... but she is a bit too full of herself and he doesn't necessarily want to teach her a lesson, but he has to, because one, her bikini butt is uncomfortably close to the most sensitive part of his body and two, he is not bad at judo... He lifts his pelvis and twists it and now it's her turn to lose balance and fall on her back with a loud moan. The bed under them squeaks nicely. They both put their hands on their mouths to mute their giggles.

"Okay, woman, you want to wrestle?" He says joyfully and tries to pin her hands down. But she fights back. The bed is getting really loud under them and the grapple - which is simultaneously playful and dead-serious - makes them pant and groan. It's perfect. A few minutes later they lie next to each other, on their backs, out of breath.

They turn their heads to each other at the very same time and they are both grinning.

" _Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine,_ " she sings quietly, teasing him.

"Nah, I'm nowhere near as charismatic. Or mean." He still smiles and the weight of the world seems lighter. He enjoys their silly banter.

"Then hopefully your D won't end up in a wooden casket..."

He lets out a laugh. "That wasn't his D, it was..."

"A sea cucumber, I know,"  she interrupts him and playfully tousles his hair.

* * *

He wakes up relatively easy, thanks for his enthusiastic organic alarm clock, also known as his beloved dog, and he may or may not had a big smile on his face while he was in dreamland...

He arrives at work way before the others, because he has to somehow write a report about last night and figure out how to get the 2,000 dollars back. At the moment, both seem like an unreachable goal, but he turns on his computer and starts to type. It's a lot less complicated than he thought it would be and he knows he can provide valuable information, he just needs to leave out a few details.

He is very observant, he notices more details than most people and it's quite handy in this profession. His colleagues respect him for that and it probably makes him a tiny bit qualified for this job.

Unfortunately, an hour later the office starts to fill up with buzzing people and it soon gives him the headaches. He opens his drawer and hopes to find some ibuprofen under the not-so-neatly-organized piles of paper. He lets out a painful sigh of relief when his fingers lace around the plastic pill bottle.

He rubs his eyes with the heel of his free right hand while his left hand opens the bottle. He pops in the pill with eyes closed; he chews on it and he grimaces when he feels the medicine's bitter taste.

He takes a deep breath before opening his eyes. He thinks he is saved for the moment... except, eh, he is not. He spots Captain Gobber. He seems to be in a good mood, because he is laughing with his lanky secretary, playfully hitting her arm with the folder he is holding in his healthy hand. His other hand is a prosthetic. It is a sad memento of a war he had fought against a gang of thugs, known as the Boneknappers. It earned him a Law Enforcement Purple Heart, but… the young cop is not sure it is something worth fighting for.

Also, the sight of the slim secretary worsens his mood. At this point, they aren't exactly on good terms. Yeah, Ruff is… well, was a little rough on him - to say the least. When he started working at the office a couple of months ago she immediately had a crush on him.

Like most men, he is not very good at noticing the subtles hint of the females, but Ruff wasn't exactly modest when it came to showing her affection. The first time she grabbed his ass in front of their co-workers was simply annoying (and not just because he wasn't attracted to her), but after the fifth time, it became unbearable. And then was that fateful office party when she... a jolt of pain rushes through his head and he grunts in agony.

Suddenly, Gobber notices him. He waves at him with the folder in his hand and the young cop buries his face in his palms. There's no way he can get out of this situation without being humiliated in front of an office full of people. His boss walks up to his desk, puts down the folder before holding out a big hand uncomfortably close to his contorted face. "Papa needs his cash, Hiccup."

He lets out a deep sigh but stubbornly keeps staring at his tabletop instead of looking into his boss's eyes.

"Yeah, about that..." He has no time to finish his answer; slim fingers appear out of nowhere and place a plastic bag full of money in Gobber's palm. "There you go, Captain."

Hiccup doesn't dare to look up, there's no way in Hell this could be real... He knows this voice and... no. It's not happening.

"Two benjamins are missing," continues the familiar voice, "but Officer Haddock had expenses."

Okay. This must be some kind of sick joke. He turns his throbbing head towards the source of the voice and...

"Oh, good," says Gobber and shoves the bag inside the back pocket of his pants. "Hah, I wasn't sure ye were properly introduced to each other."

Hiccup clears his throat and stands up. He knows his face must be purple as beetroot and he knows his voice will probably tremble, but he feels he has to say something. "As a matter of fact, we weren't."

He looks into the sapphire eyes in front of him; they seem a shade lighter in daylight.

"Oh, look at my manners, lad. Well, allow me to introduce ye yer new partner, Officer Astrid Hofferson."


	3. ...in which two old geezers fire up the grill and everyone is a dog person

**TWO WEEKS EARLIER**

It's probably a bit early to fire up the grill outside but the chilly blows of the end-of-March winds have never been enough to frighten away the two well-built men from their favorite pastime activity. They stand under the sturdy roof of the large patio, close to the fire, in thick windbreakers already drooling over the half-cooked sausages. In order to feel a little warmer, Captain Gobber pours hot grog from the vacuum flask he is holding into two metal cups and crown prosecutor Stoick Haddock cheerfully grabs his drink. They simultaneously lift and clink the cups, say 'cheers' and gulp down the heartwarmers.

Stoick wipes his thick beard with the back of his hand and clears his throat.

"So… how is everything?"

"At work? Ye mean the _Enevoldsen-case_?" Asks back Gobber before refilling their cups.

Stoick turns the sausages with the tong before answering a short 'aye'.

"Well, I still have my doubts... I think something has happened to him at the strip club."

"But he was captured on CCTV at the Berk Four Seasons. Multiple times," protests Stoick. He grabs a roll of tinfoil and starts to wrap potatoes in it. The raw hamburger patties are already on a plate, only seasoned with salt and pepper, patiently waiting for their inevitable fate on the fire.

Gobber drinks the second shot of the grog and scrunchies his nose. "But ye can't see his face on the footage, because of that flamboyant purple hat he is wearing. I tell ye what, Stoick, when I think of a businessman, I never think of _Liberace_."

Stoick giggles then turns his attention to the sausages again. Both men swallow hard when the delicious smell hits their nostrils.

"He is an exhibitionist, there's nothing wrong with that. Besides, it's easier to recognize him," he claims but Gobber shakes his head.

"The Uber driver has never seen him before, so he doesn't count as a credible witness and the waitress who served him with the late-night brandy claimed that it was dark and she was exhausted. Yes, the person looked and sounded like Mr. Enevoldsen, but she is not 100 percent sure and she can't remember taking a good look at his face as he was wearing that stupid hat while he was in the hotel's bar. And then, after the nightcap, he goes up to his room but instead of entering it, he covers the CCTV on the corridor with a black scarf and bam, he is gone for good."

Stoick is deep in his thoughts while he carefully fishes off the sausages from the grill and puts them on a plate. Gobber opens a pack of Warburton's Old English White sliced bread with a happy grunt. They have terrible eating habits but that's just the umpteenth thing they have in common. They eat the sausages and with the bread quietly.

Gobber puts down his now empty plate and debates pouring another round of warm shots.

"People don't just disappear into thin air," he claims as he puts his hand on the flask. "I mean, sometimes they do, but this man enjoyed his life to the most. And we have checked, he had no financial issues, he was ready to invest good money into that stripper place. And apart from his wallet and phone, he left everything behind in his room."

Stoick grabs a napkin and wipes his mouth. His beard is still glistening with fat from the sausage, but he couldn't care less.

"And what did the club owner say?"

Gobber shrugs. "Drago Bludvist? Not much. Enevoldsen called an Uber and left after that Heather-Leather dancer girl refused his advances. Bludvist didn't seem to be agitated or worried, he was factual. Plus they wanted to close the business deal in the next days. Why would anyone get rid of a potential partner before getting his money?"

Stoick places the potatoes and the patties on the grill, the charcoals hiss when the fat from the burgers starts dripping on them. The wind has pretty much died out entirely, but it's still chilly.

"So?" Asks Stoick with a quirked eyebrow.

"So what?"

Stoick laughs up, he knows his former partner / all-time best friend too well. "Come on, Gobber, I know ye are planning on something."

"I am," he admits without hesitation, "I think some good old fashioned undercover job would prove useful."

Stoick thinks for a few seconds then turns the burgers and the potatoes in foil. "And who is the lucky winner?"

Gobber turns around and takes two steps to reach his leather file bag he casually dropped on an unused deckchair.

"As a matter of fact…" he starts slowly while he opens the bag and takes a file out, "As a matter of fact, there are two lucky winners. One of them is a new recruit."

He hands out the file to Stoick. It's a work application form. He looks at the small picture of the blonde girl in the top right corner. Then his eyes scan her personal data. Place of birth, name of parents… he raises a brow. "Is this who I think she is?"

"Yep, she is," Gobber assured Stoick, "I think she wants to return to her roots."

Stoick flips through the pages. Already a sergeant. The burly man is nothing but impressed. "She seems like an excellent catch," he says while handing back the file.

Gobber nods. "Yep. I've already hired her."

"So what's the plan?" Stoick inquires while he starts to pick up the burgers from the grill. "Is she going to be a bartender at that devilish hole?"

"Nope. A dancer."

The tong stops in Stoick's hand and he almost drops one precious patty between the grill and the plate he is holding. Gobber reaches out and helps him finish the move.

"Don't worry ye old, emotional bear, she is going to be some warm-up dancer, she won't drop her clothes. Well, not all of them."

"Still, it sounds a bit too risky," he tries again, "I don't know... she looks fragile."

Gobber puts down the plate on the desk and grabs the bottom half of a bun. He spoons a generous amount of spicy mustard on it then reaches for the ketchup.

"It was her idea and well, she did some MMA fighting, obviously can handle a gun, yadda yadda yadda. I'm not worried about her. She has already got the job, apparently, she can dance. And speaks _Icelandic_ , that might come handy. Plus, no one knows her here. Well, not anymore."

Stoick snorts and thinks for a minute.

"And who is the other 'lucky winner'?"

Gobber puts down his hamburger without biting in it. "Well, funny you should ask..."

* * *

**NOW**

"I prefer Sergeant Hofferson," she says as if it was the world's most natural thing to be an awesome policewoman at such a young age... As for Hiccup, he is still _just_ an officer with a ridiculously strong headache and he is not particularly thrilled when his _new partner_ unintentionally rubs it in his face.

"O-officer Haddock," he stutters and reaches out to shake the delicate hand she holds out for him. He guesses this is a rare situation when people imitate sex with each other before having been properly introduced, maybe rare enough to be the first in history.

Suddenly a jolt of pain stabs his temple and he squeezes her hand far too long and far too strong, so a displeased squeak leaves her lips. Looking a bit annoyed, she pulls her right hand back and starts to massage it with the other. This is most probably _not the beginning of a beautiful partnership,_ he thinks and it's terrible that even his inner voice is sarcastic.

"I'm sorry, I… my head is killing me," he admits and pokes his temple with his index finger. Probably, he should poke his eyes too, it still feels highly impossible and intimidating that the gorgeous dancer girl he met and adored last night is right in front of him. It doesn't feel normal, it shouldn't feel normal, it is very confusing.

Someone should have had the decency to warn him about her… And then remembers that he forgot to talk to Ruffnut. Ruffnut, who is standing a few feet away from them with a smirk the size of Greater London. He gives her the evil eye and the mean wench replies with a sordid chuckle.

One thing is sure: he needs to talk to Sergeant Hofferson in private, to clear things up, to understand what the fuck is actually going on because he really feels left out. But privacy is not an easily achievable goal in an open office. Luckily, Gobber turns out to be a mind reader and saves his day. At least a tiny part of it.

"Listen, ye can go talk in my office. I'd be happy if ye could collate yer reports, ye don't need to hand me two separate papers. The less _papa_ has to read, the happier he is."

They both nod. "After you, Officer Haddock," she gestures quickly with her hands a moment later. Splendid. A few unsure steps later, he looks back at her over his shoulder. She is right behind him, fixing him with those giant sapphire eyes, but her expression is unreadable.

He quietly walks to his boss's massive desk and turns around while she shuts the door behind them. He twists his hands and grabs the edge of the table behind his back for support. She stops a couple of feet from him and expectantly crosses her arms in front of her chest. He feels pitiful. Probably because he _is_ pitiful.

"So... You're not Miss Stormfly," he states, breaking the silence and surprisingly his voice sounds surer than he really is.

She shakes her head and flashes a discreet smile. "No. That's just an act, my cover." She steps closer to him and takes out her phone from the side pocket of her elegant blue trousers. "This is Stormfly."

The background picture on her iPhone is her, hugging the most graceful husky Hiccup has ever seen. He looks at it closely and for some unexplained reason, it makes him relieved, nay, happy that there's no one else on the picture... Of course, he knows it doesn't mean that she has no significant other in her life, eh, why wouldn't she have? She is the platonic ideal of a woman. But still, it is nice to see her with a dog and a dog only. A fabulous looking one, he has to admit.

"Your eyes. They have the same color," he points out with a faint grin because it's an adorable coincidence.

"You know what they say. At some point, the dogs and their owners start to look alike..."

He combs through his hair to ease the nervousness and to boost his confidence and her eyes linger on his long, thin fingers for a moment. "I don't know about that..." His slender fingers now fall down from his hair and disappear in the inside pocket of his jacket from where he fishes put a worn Polaroid picture. "Yeah, I'm a weirdo, I have an actual paper picture with me."

He hands her the picture and it feels nice when their knuckles touch for a split second. "He is Toothless. And yeah, I know I'm a terrible person to make him wear a red bandana with a skull, but hey, 2020 is the new eighties."

She smiles when she looks at the picture, it's obvious that she is really fond of dogs. "What is he? An all-black border collie?"

"Uh, a mongrel, but he definitely has some border collie in him. And a lot of other things. Fire-spitting dragon, water buffalo, chimpanzee..."

She giggles and she is really cute when she does it, but he knows he should suppress these improper feelings about her. He shouldn't make those remarks in his head about her looks, because they are colleagues now - and not just _plain_ colleagues, no, no, they were made partners and even though it's the first time he is partnered up with somebody, he knows it is a great responsibility. He refuses to see the object of his carnal desire in her, these vile feeling should be and will be covered by the thick, sturdy layer of a professional relationship, no matter how hard and unachievable it feels right now.

On the other hand, it makes him happy that they are equal now; he didn't fancy this whole customer/stripper idea in the first place even if it's every little boys' wet dream. And they are both dog persons. _They are e_ _qual_ _dog persons and it makes him feel less vulnerable._ She hands him back the picture and their fingers touch again. He shouldn't notice it, but he does.

"Why Toothless?" She asks while curiously looking into his eyes. At least her gaze feels less and less intimidating, it's progress. He will get over her charm because he has to. He clears his throat and tries to act normal.

"Well, he was very little when I found him, thrown away in a ditch with a broken tailbone. He started to suck on my thumb and I thought he had no teeth. Then he bit me."

She smiles again and he is enchanted by her teeth, he wants to be bitten by that perfect set of white pearls… Eh, _not again_. Maybe. In another galaxy. Someday. But only after this world has ended. He desperately tries to focus on their conversation instead of his confused thoughts.

"So, I'm guessing, you had no idea about who I was…" she points out the obvious.

He nods and he feels that he is blushing. At least the headache starts to numb.

"Gobber told me to talk to Ruffnut about something, but… well, let's just say she is not my favorite person, so I avoided her."

He doesn't want to elaborate on his grudge with Ruff, so he quickly changes the subject.

"What brought you here? Berk isn't exactly the best place to fulfill one's sweetest career dreams..."

"Hah. Did I give you the wrong impression? Do you take me for a ruthless career bitch?"

He shrugs and blushes a little. "I mean..."

"Yeah, I know, I'm young and I'm a sergeant. But guess what? I helped to solve a baffling case, saved a lot of government money, I got promoted. Nothing big, really."

She steps closer to him and her nearness is uncomfortable, it reminds him of all the things they híve done the day before on that squeaky bed... Yes, they were just playing, he knows that, but some fragments of it feel oddly realistic in retrospect.

"And you dance in a strip club."

"Anybody can dance."

"I can't."

"Right. But you can _stare_ at dancers."

Okay, here we go. So she definitely noticed that he wasn't looking at her with indifferent eyes, she must know that he wasn't blind to her beauty. Oh, well, he still isn't, but he has to keep his secret for their sake, for their jobs' sake, even if it means he has to lie. Or just conceal the truth.

"Guilty as charged, but my job was to stare..."

Her eyes go wide. "Sorry, I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. I'm just a bit confused about last night. I mean, you didn't know who I was..." He nods his head in affirmation because it's true. "...yet you paid a helluva lot of money to..."

He cuts her off before she makes it awkward. "I desperately wanted to get into the _Champagne Room,_ " he says firmly.

"I know, me too." She sighs and he sees a pinch of weakness in her, it is unusual, but it makes her look less like a superhero and more like a normal human being and he happens to like it.

"How do you know that I wasn't going to...? I mean, did you know who I was?"

She sighs again. "Yeah, I saw a picture of you when I first met Gobber."

"Still, you didn't know me… What if I jumped at you or something? Not that I would ever... you know." It feels a bit awkward again and he doesn't even know why the Hel he felt the urge to ask it. Probably, because he feels a tiny bit guilty, but her immediate reaction surprises him. She laughs up, loudly, from her heart and punches his upper arm.

"Oh, don't you worry about me. I did MMA for years, plus Ruffnut _has told me_."

He quirks an eyebrow and a dreadful feeling starts to overcome him. "What has she told you?"

"That you were _gay_. And I have to admit that I'm so glad that once in this life I'm paired up with someone who won't try to hit on me."

For some reason, it makes her overly enthusiastic and she hugs him. She smells sweet and she feels soft between his arms and even though he is petrified because of what she had just said, he returns her hug. But then quickly lets go of her. He feels an unknown rage growing in his guts and all he wants to do is give a piece of his mind to Ruffnut.

He doesn't care if she makes stupid faces at him, he doesn't care if she 'accidentally' hits him, he doesn't care if she wants to make his life miserable, but he _does_ care about what Sergeant Hofferson thinks about him, and even though there is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay, he doesn't want to turn into a gay best partner, when he is not.

"Would you excuse me for a second?" He doesn't wait for her permission, he doesn't need it. He heads for the door and he is quite sure that nothing can stop him now. He exits Gobber's office and looks around for Ruffnut. It's easy to spot her; she is standing next to the water fountain, talking far too harshly with someone on the phone. A couple of long and determined strides later he is in front of her and he grabs her phone, tearing it from her ear and dropping it on the floor.

"Hey, you idio..."

He shoves her to the wall. "Listen, Thorston, I've had enough. I never cared about your little _Operation Revenge-Haddock-For-Refusing-Me_ , but let me assure you that war is on if you keep on spreading lies about me just because I've hurt your pride."

She doesn't say anything at first, the sudden and unlikely ambush leaves her flabbergasted and mute - probably for the first time in her life. But then again, her attacker is just that little runt, the privileged son of crown prosecutor Haddock, who _dared_ to refuse her when she offered him the best remedy to his miserable life: herself. So she laughs him in the face, rudely and loudly, and the weakling's hands finally slip off from her shoulders.

"Listen, Haddock... I sat on your lap at that fricking party, grinding my fine ass on your shlong and it didn't even move," she hisses through gritted teeth. "In my book, it means that you are a snake swallower, a sausage lover, a pole..."

She only stops when his long fingers cover her filthy mouth. She debates biting him, but the constant white noise-like buzzing of the office suddenly stops around them, and she is sure that all eyes are keenly watching their little performance.

"Has occurred to you," he whispers with nothing but pure, raw anger, "that I'm not gay just simply uninterested you?"

Ruffnut thinks for a moment then shakes her head. Hiccup rolls his eyes, she is unbelievable... He lowers his hand from her mouth, hoping that she won't start screeching because he feels that Sergeant Hofferson is watching them.

"Ruffnut, please," he asks on a softened tone, "there's nothing wrong with you or me, you are just not my type, that's all it is."

"Okay," says Ruffnut quietly, "point taken."

He takes a step back and turns around, he tries to ignore the curious world around him while he heads back to Astrid, blushed from toe to temple.

"What is your type then?"

Asks Ruffnut half-loudly with a shady tone. He stops for a moment, but doesn't answer the question and doesn't turn back to look at her. He starts to walk again and Astrid takes a few steps to let him in.

"Is it tall, blonde and _sergeant_?" Inquires Ruffnut from behind and there are suppressed laughs coming from all corners of the office, but he just shuts the door and doesn't give a fuck.

"I'm sorry about that," he starts quietly once he is back at the desk. He courageously stands the gaze of the big blue eyes and he hopes, that she hasn't heard the _grinding_ part, because that was one of his most embarrassing moments in life. "Ruffnut is... she can be terrible sometimes. I usually tolerate her better, but... with my headache and all..."

"So you are not gay?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry..."

"Good." Astrid's instant reaction comes a little too fast. "I mean, not that it matters," she corrects herself.

He smiles. "But I promise I won't hit on you," he adds sheepishly, "we are _partners_."

"Right. We are."

There's a bit of awkward silence between them, but she doesn't let it take over. "Erm, where were we? Oh, right. So, did you spot anything unusual in the _Champagne Room_?"

"Well, the room was recently cleaned, there was a faint smell of bleach, but whoever did the job, wasn't thorough enough. There're broken pieces of glass in the fireplace..."

"... and under the bed. Nice catch, Officer Haddock."

He blushes, but this time it feels right because it is work-related, so he continues. "There were faint marks and dark spots on the north wall and on the floor; they looked as if someone had hastily tried to clean a relatively huge amount of blood."

"There was definitely something going on in that room..."

They look at each other and the same thought is on their minds. She is the one who finally dares to say it out loud.

"We have to get back."

"Wouldn't it be too risky? I thought these places have a strong policy against regular pairings. To protect you. I mean the dancers. Not the undercover police officers."

She flashes a perfect-teethed smile at him. "I don't think two occasions would raise any brows, but I can talk to Eret. I could feed him a little white lie about me needing financial support. You were a generous customer."

"Do you trust him?"

She laughs up. " Do I trust the bartender slash bouncer of the strip club? No, I don't. But he can be bribed. Either with money or... with flashing a little flesh." She demonstrates what she means by tugging at the hem of her blouse at the top, revealing two inches of her flawless skin. And Hiccup becomes embarrassed once again for a short second.

"Erm... I really don't think there's need for that..."

"Trust me, I've done worse."

He chuckles. He really doesn't want to know what she means by "worse", but he also really wants to know... He decides that for the sake of his sanity, he will not ask about it. He is quite sure that some things are better left unknown...

He clears his throat before changing the subject. "Ahem. The problem is that I'm not allowed to take anything inside apart from my wallet. They took away my phone and I'm sure they would ask some rude questions if I took my detective kit with me."

She laughs up again, she seems entertained. "Detective kit? What are you, five?"

"Okay. _Portable Forensic Evidence Kit_ , Sergeant Perfect."

"Oh, I could get used to that name!" She exclaims with joy, then continues a bit less enthusiastically. "The problem is that they search the dancers as well and they take away our phones too. Brrr, imagine a dressing room full of phoneless women..."

"Ugh. I can't."

"It's happening there. _Every night_. It's a nightmare..." She leans closer to him, imitating a fake fright while she jokingly grabs his collar and pulls him closer. "They talk. They _constantly_ talk."

They both laugh up and he notices that she holds him close to herself a little longer than necessary. He doesn't remind her of that, but unfortunately, she soon lets go of him.

"But I would like to live up to my reputation, you know, to the good old Sergeant Perfect one, not the Miss Flexible one."

It's a good thing that she turns her back to him to grab the bag from she placed on Gobber's desk when she arrived to work today because his eyes grow wide and his jaw drops. Mainly, because he knows _how_ flexible she is... She turns back and searches the bag then triumphantly presents a smaller bag to Hiccup.

He opens it. There's a smaller bag inside, a make-up kit, probably full of all those unfamiliar, weird things girls use to make things longer, shinier and thinner. He peeks inside when she hands it over and he cannot _not_ notice that there are quite a few packs of condoms in it... His heart sinks, it sad to see that she does have a private life. He shakes his head hoping that it would relieve his disappointment, but it doesn't.  He gives the bag back to her.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Hofferson, I don't get it. Why would we need a make-up bag?"

"Oh, it's not a make-up bag, Officer Haddock, this is my _portable forensic evidence kit_."

He quirks an eyebrow at her again while she unpacks the contents of the little bag on the table. "Tweezers. Evidence bags and rubber gloves - disguised as condoms."

"Nice!" He flashes an honest smile, there is some relief after all.

"Body spray…" She adds, placing the can carefully on the table.

"If you get sweaty during evidence collection?"

"Nah, I don't mind getting sweaty. There's _Luminol_ in it, to show blood. Aaaand my little mascara torch!" It's touching to see how her face lights up every time she proudly fishes out a new gadget, her dedication to the job is nothing but enviable.

"And this little thing is the one we need right now, dear partner." She hands him a cylindrical silver object which is cool to the touch. He examines it carefully.

"A lipstick?"

"A voice recorder."

He is confused. What on Earth could they record in an empty room? Then it hits him. "Oh, are we recording notes for our reports?"

She shakes her head. "No. We're making a _sex tape_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my humble fiction and many thanks for the kudos-givers and review-gifters.


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